“I value my privacy,” she’d said firmly. “If you illustrate discretion tonight, I will do my best to send business your way when the tourists return in the spring.”
JoFaye’s owner knew of Olivia’s influence and had no doubt that pleasing her would result in increased bookings. The yacht’s captain attempted small talk at the beginning of the short trip, but he was astute enough to see that she wasn’t interested in conversation. With a grim face, she kept her eyes on the horizon, holding her injured arm so that it didn’t bounce around too much whenever the boat crossed another vessel’s wake. The poodle also struggled to maintain his balance as the JoFaye’s powerful dual engines ran full throttle.
Olivia was too busy focusing on the pain in her arm to speculate on her upcoming reunion, but as the island became visible to starboard, she began to feel an increased sense of panic. The urge to tell the captain to turn his boat around was strong. After all, Olivia’s father had abandoned her. It would serve him right if she did the same to him as he lay dying. Perhaps he wasn’t even aware that his caretakers had contacted her and would be upset to suddenly find the woman his little girl had become standing at his bedside.
Olivia had fled from hardship before, but she wouldn’t now. Instead, she swallowed her anxiety and stood tall in the prow of the boat as the shore grew closer and the shapes of houses and trees became visible.
The captain headed for Silver Lake, an inlet south of Mary Ann’s Pond. He eased back on the throttle, motoring slowly past the ferry dock.
The sun had moved lower in the sky and part of the island had been cast in shadow. Only the white walls of the lighthouse seemed undiminished by the encroachment of evening and Olivia drew comfort at the sight of the old structure.
Earlier, Olivia had told the yacht’s captain that she needed to be dropped off at the dock closest to Hudson’s Raw Bar, being that she’d made no arrangements for transportation once she reached the island.
“Hudson’s is right in the village,” he’d told her. “They’ve got their own dock. I’ll just let you hold the wheel steady while I throw a line over and get us secured. My wife has a rug on hold over at The Island Ragpicker and they’re staying open late so I can pick it up. Think you can man the helm with your arm in a sling?”
Olivia had nodded.
Now, as the yacht’s motor decelerated from a deafening roar to a steady drone, the captain deftly maneuvered the JoFaye into an open slip, gave Olivia a few instructions, and leapt from the boat to the dock with feline agility. Securing the bowline, he told her to cut the engines as he lassoed the stern line to the dock’s iron cleat. He then set out a pair of disembarkation steps and offered his hand to assist Olivia down. She accepted reluctantly, but Haviland disregarded the steps altogether and jumped onto the dock with an anticipatory bark.
“Yes, Captain,” Olivia whispered to him. “Another adventure awaits us.”
Shouldering her overnight bag, Olivia hastily thanked the yacht’s captain, eager to be alone for a moment to gather courage. He said good-bye and hurried off, eager to complete his wife’s errand.
From her vantage point on the dock, Olivia could see the brown clapboard walls of the eatery and the second-story windows of the house that the Salters had converted into guest rooms.
Olivia stared at the windows, watching the waning light dance upon the panes. On the other side of one of those sheets of glass, behind the glimmering farewell of daylight, was her father. Her throat tightened and she looked away, taking in the tranquility of the village and the sleepy inlet. She stood like this for several minutes, drawing courage from the clang of mooring lines and the gentle rocking of sailboats at anchor.
Finally, she walked forward, her eyes returning again and again to the lighthouse. It was incredibly strange that her father had taken up residence so close to another lighthouse. He had deserted his home, his daughter, and the memories of his wife. And yet here he was, still tied to the ocean, working in a town interdependent on the sea, living in the lee of another lighthouse.
“Did you really escape?” Olivia wondered aloud. “Or did our voices float to you across the water? Mother’s and mine. Did you see our faces in the tidal pools? In the glassy water before you pulled the shrimp nets in?”
Olivia fell silent, knowing that she was describing how she’d been haunted by the ghosts of her past.
She gave Haviland a brave smile and then stepped into the restaurant.
The décor was casual to the point of neglect. There were scarred wooden picnic tables and chairs, mismatched barstools, old fishing nets slung across the rafters. A few customers were at the bar, getting an early start on a long night of drinking. A television set was tuned to ESPN, and a woman stood at the end of the bar, refilling catsup bottles and saltshakers.
Upon seeing Olivia, she wiped her hands on her apron and murmured something to the old man sitting closest to her.
“Can I help you?” she asked with guarded friendliness.
Olivia examined the woman. She was barely thirty, but toil and worry made her appear older. Her brown hair hung limply down her back and her watery blue eyes were wary. Glancing at Haviland, she placed a protective hand on her swollen abdomen.
“Are you Kim Salter?”
The woman nodded. “You must be Olivia. My husband said you would probably come.” Her tone was apologetic. She pointed at Olivia’s sling. “What happened to you?”
“That’s not important.” Olivia clenched her jaw, her blue eyes darkening with intensity. She disliked being short with the woman, especially since she was both tired and pregnant, but it couldn’t be helped. “I came to see my father and I want to see him now.”
“I’ll get Hudson.” Kim turned and hurried through a swing door leading into the kitchen.
Olivia didn’t wait around for Hudson Salter to emerge from within. She didn’t trust the man and she didn’t want to give him the chance to manipulate her in any way.
Bursting into the kitchen, she found him boiling a pot of stone crab claws while a little girl carefully cut a lemon into tidy wedges. Hudson, whose back was to the door, had been speaking to his wife but immediately broke off and swung around to face Olivia. His cheeks were flushed from the steam billowing out of the stockpot and his eyes were hooded and unreadable. He glanced between Olivia and Haviland and then wiped his hands on his apron.
“Caitlyn,” he said in a deep, authoritative tone. “Take those lemons out to the bar. Kim, you go on too.”
Kim seemed about to protest, but a steely glare from her husband silenced her. Putting a gentle arm around Caitlyn’s bony shoulders, she led the girl out of the kitchen. They both gave Haviland a wide berth.
“I suppose we need to come to terms before you’ll let me see my father,” Olivia stated, dropping her purse on an unused cutting board. She pulled out her checkbook and wiggled it impatiently. “How much?”
Hudson was clearly taken aback. “This isn’t the time to talk about money. I’ve gotta fill this order and then I’ll bring you upstairs. And for the record, I don’t like animals in my kitchen. I take pride in my cooking.” He shot Haviland a distasteful look and then fixed his gaze on Olivia again. “Your daddy’s been sleeping most of the time. He’s pretty doped on morphine. Got a local lady to watch him while we work. He doesn’t have much life left in him now.” His voice had suddenly lost its edge. “You should expect the worst.”